


quiet splendor

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [38]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two ways Jamie and Claire connect before - and after - their visit to Versailles in 02x02 "Not in Scotland Anymore"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/142689706981/so-this-photo-happened-yesterday-and-this) on tumblr.

_Imagine how Jamie and Claire connect with each other right before they leave for Versailles in 02x02 "Not in Scotland Anymore"...more to come...  
_

* * *

 

He didn’t like it.

His words had said as much - even though she had only done what he had asked her to do. Perhaps to a point beyond what he expected, or deemed to be *proper* - but she knew, deep down, that it was exactly what they needed. Was exactly the perfect way for a minor Scottish landowner to quickly - and definitively - make an impression in the tight-knit Jacobite circles at Versailles.

Just a few steps down the spiral staircase separated them from the crowd. Already the murmur of voices and tinkle of glassware floated through the hallway, barely muffled by the rich carpeting.

Jamie gallantly extended his right hand to Claire, helping her slowly step down the stairs. Gripping her fingers tightly - not in anger or indignation, she realized, but in nervousness.

He had to focus.

“Jamie?”

She stilled, and he turned to face her, one step below her - for once, their faces perfectly level.

His beautiful eyes - wide in breathless anticipation - locked with hers.

She dropped his hand, gently rested her palms on his smooth, fragrant cheeks, and slowly drew their foreheads together.

Claire felt, rather than saw, Jamie’s eyes close in relief. In bliss.

“I am confident in you, James Fraser,” she whispered, caressing the back of his neck, mindful of the ribbon tying back his hair.

“I’m so grateful ye are here by my side, *mo nighean donn*.” His voice was thick, choked with worry. “But I know every man here will be looking at ye. I canna - ” He swallowed. “I ken it has to be done, but - well. It’s too much.”

She breathed in deeply. He followed her lead. Grounding themselves in each other.

“Whose wife am I?”

He exhaled sharply. She relished the feel of it against the rice powder on her skin.

“Mine,” he rasped.

“And whose bed will I sleep in tonight?”

“Mine,” he growled.

“And whose child is in my belly?”

“Mine,” he smiled, ecstatic, trying to bridge the gap between them.

But she pulled back.

“And whose name do I bear?”

“Mine,” he breathed.

“Yours,” she gasped, and softly, gently, touched her lips to his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/143117464495/home) on tumblr

_Imagine what happened right after Jamie and Claire leave Versailles in 02x02 "Not in Scotland Anymore"_

* * *

The night - the thrilling, terrifying, nauseating night - was finally over.

Claire had freed her swollen feet from those beautiful, uncomfortable shoes. She flexed her toes in Jamie’s lap, his fingers rubbing gentle circles into her arches as he watched the dark streets glide by outside the carriage. Dimly she thought that this would be another - mutually beneficial - way for him to exercise his hand, test the mobility of his tendons and joints -

“I’m to play chess wi’ him in three days time,” he said quietly - so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him over the hollow clop-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestoned streets.

“One step at a time, I suppose,” she sighed. The image of Alexander Randall’s young, innocent face danced before her eyes. Did he know about his brother? *Really* know? How could he know?

How could he not know?

“I canna decide whether I should let him win,” Jamie continued. “My honesty wi’ the prince got us the invitation to the palace. I dinna ken if he trusts me, but he wanted me to act as his agent wi’ the king. So.”

“So.”

Jamie’s thumbnail ran delicately, deliberately, sharply along the instep of her foot.

Desire - pleasure - shot to her core. She was so tired that she didn’t realize she’d let out a soft moan until she felt Jamie’s hand stiffen - and the other hand glide over her ankle and across the (freshly re-waxed) smooth skin of her calf. So gentle. Questioning.

She parted her legs a bit, encouraging him.

His hand continued up her thigh. The carriage bumped over a particularly large pothole, and she edged closer to the end of the hard seat.

And then it all came to a rude halt in front of Jared’s house, and she scrambled to sit up straight and slide back into her shoes before the footman opened the door and offered his hand to help her down the wobbly carriage steps.

Jamie gingerly climbed out right behind her. She felt the heat of him at her back, all the way through the main door, up the elegantly winding stairs, past the yawning, curtseying maids in the hallway, and into the decadent luxury of their rooms.

Dare she pursue it - this - further?

Jamie settled one hand on the small of her back and guided her to their bedroom. He closed the door, turned to her, settled his hands on her waist, and took a moment to just - enjoy the view.

“Are you still angry I wore this dress?”

She felt the warm rush of breath before she heard his laugh.

“I became re-acquainted with the girl for whom I fought my first duel, I watched the King of France try to shit, I pushed the French finance minister into the pond, I helped puir Murtagh avoid a death sentence. Did I miss anything?”

Oh, he had. He definitely had. But now was not the time to tell him.

She stepped ever so slightly closer, drawing her arms around his neck. “Sounds like more than enough excitement for a single evening.”

He dropped a long kiss to the side of her jaw. “You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. Ye were the only woman no’ dressed like - like a hoor, or a cake.”

She stepped out of her shoes. He craned his neck to keep their connection.

“And what did you think of the king’s mistress, then? Those poor swans.”

Now his teeth began skimming her flushed skin. “She drew attention, to be sure - but for all the wrong reasons. She looked cheap. No’ like you. You looked like - like - ”

“Like what?” she whispered, breathless.

He drew back to meet her shining eyes. “Like the lady ye are. My wife. Whom I love and cherish and honor and respect. Who supports me in all things.”

She smiled - serenely - and drew her forehead to meet his.

“Do you remember what you said to me, that night at Leoch, when - when you pledged yourself to me?”

He exhaled - clearly surprised at the turn in conversation.

“Of course. How could I forget?”

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

He butted the tip of his nose with hers. “If I recall correctly, I said a great many things to ye that night.”

“So you did. But tell me - what did you say to me, after you explained what my ring is?”

He twined his fingers through hers and brought her right hand to his lips, kissing the one thing he had given her that was well and truly *his*.

“That I didna mind no’ being able to get back to Lallybroch - because *you* are my home.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Say it again.”

He smiled and kissed her chin. “*You* are my home now, Claire. It’s why I dinna mind being so far from Scotland - so far from - ”

“Who am I, Jamie?”

His brows raised, confused. “My wife. My love. My home.”

She swallowed, suddenly feeling so brave, and took a step back, resting her palms on his shoulders, squarely meeting his questioning gaze.

“Come home, Jamie.”

She watched all the breath leave his body.

“Come home,” she repeated, fingers already loosening the damned knots of his cravat.

He watched, dumbstruck, before realization dawned.

“Home,” he croaked, suddenly all thumbs as he tried - and failed - to find the wee buttons holding the dress together.

She made quick work of his waistcoat and shirt, then turned so he could help her out of the dress. It whispered to the floor, and she turned to face Jamie - but he drew her back to his front, nuzzling her neck, arms circling her waist, hands gently sheltering their miracle.

“Home. You are my home,” he repeated over and over as he held her close. Cherishing her.

“Who is your home?” she asked quietly, as she turned and helped him undo his flies.

“You are,” he whispered, stepping out of his breeches and shoes and settling his hands on her hips, guiding her to their bed.

She turned away only to pull down the sheets and settle among the pillows, her hands extended in welcome.

“Come home, Jamie,” she repeated.

His heart soared. Her face - her face - her face - smiling, because of him - was everywhere.

And there was no pain, no fear, no anguish. Nobody else. Just her, and him, and so much love, and joy. Together, and whole, and home.

 

 

 

 


End file.
